Fic - "ABC Kink - I for Infantilism"
Feb. 21st, 2009 02:33 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rajTitle: ABC Kink - "I for Infantilism"
Author/Artist:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
raja815
Character/Fandom: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1052
Warnings: Sexuality. Paraphilic infantilism (adult baby fetishism.)
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
for “Infantilism"
Everything began on a particularly late night at Headquarters, with Roy and Havoc working alone to catch up on some backlog. Roy stumbled back into the office with yet another stack of reports at half past two in the morning to find Havoc asleep on the small sofa, clutching his uniform jacket to his chest like a blanket, one thumb securely corked into his mouth.
At first Roy was amused, then baffled. What was a grown man doing sucking his thumb like an infant? A commended military rifleman, no less! Roy had been all set to be disdainful, even cruel about it, but all of a sudden, he’d felt sort of… well, curious. He needed a closer look.
He crept over and sat down, examining Havoc’s face as he did so. It was more peaceful than he’d ever seen it, all the stress and hints of loneliness he usually carried wiped away. He looked perfectly innocent. Roy had never seen an expression like that on anyone outside of earliest childhood, asleep or not. It made Roy feel strange. Protective, somehow. So he’d pulled Havoc’s head into his lap, stroked the blond fringe until it was smooth, and began to sway slowly back and forth. Any qualms or questions at his own behavior seemed insignificant compared to that peaceful bliss on the lieutenant’s face.
Jean awoke almost at once and panicked, pulling his thumb away and scrambling to get up, but Roy held him. He said nothing. And neither did Havoc. He only looked deeply into his Colonel’s eyes for a long moment, and slowly slid his thumb back into his mouth. Roy kissed his forehead and resumed his rocking. After awhile, Havoc closed his eyes and Roy began to hum.
It went from there. They never spoke of the incident, but all at once Jean began showing up to Roy’s house on Friday evenings after they both left work, and staying until midday on Saturday, when Roy usually went into headquarters again.
Roy had heard from his surrogate “aunties” at Madame Christmas’s establishment about men who enjoyed things like this—being powdered and diapered, mock-nursed, silenced with pacifiers while their escorts sucked them off. What he and Jean did wasn’t like that. Not in the least.
For starters, it wasn’t sexual. Well… not completely. Not at first. At the heart of it Roy supposed it was sexual in some fundamental way, but there wasn’t anything that passed for sex between them. Instead it fulfilled them, both men who had never known their fathers, in ways they could barely make sense of.
It wasn’t elaborate, either. Jean would arrive, smoke a few final cigarettes to hold him through the night, and Roy would undress him to his underwear. He’d put Jean into soft, pastel blue pajamas. They were men’s pajamas, not modeled after any baby sleepwear, but there was something childish about them all the same. From the moment he was in them, Jean didn’t speak. His face retained the expression of childlike innocence that had so captivated Roy, and whatever he needed was communicated through whimpers, laughs, and infantile gestures. Roy would feed him soft foods like soup or applesauce with a spoon, cuddle with him on the sofa, tickle him until tears of laughter ran down his cheeks, stroke his hair and hold him until he fell asleep. Jean would suck his thumb, kiss Roy’s cheek with innocent affection, play with the coasters on the coffee table, and listen with rapt attention when Roy read him simple stories or hummed lullabies.
Of course, though, it couldn’t stay so simple. Roy felt the gradual change in their dynamic when they weren’t playing their soothing little domestic game, and during work he found himself noticing how sexy Jean looked in his uniform. When he wasn’t there being little boy innocent, Roy thought of kissing him, not like a father but like a lover, deep and rough and long. Thought of undressing him and really seeing him. Though of bringing him to his own wide double bed, instead of the smaller guest bed he’d fitted with soft blankets and a stuffed puppy plush, and pressing their bodies together.
One Friday evening, Roy gave Jean a bath, carefully undressing him, laying his soft blue pajamas aside, filing the tub with soap suds and floating a rubber duck (it had come attached to a box of cigars Hughes had sent in celebration of Elysia’s birth) in the water. Jean sat in his bath, splashing the bubbles, smiling as the duck bobbed back and forth. Roy, kneeling on the tiled floor, was washing him with a soft cloth, when he’d reached under the bubbles and felt Jean was erect.
Roy moaned softly, his own penis swelling, and he’d leaned over the tub, finding Jean’s lips and kissing him like he’d fantasized about kissing him, not a parent’s kiss to a beloved child but a kiss from one amorous man to another, and seized his hard-on under the suds and began pumping. He felt Jean’s tongue with his, and he’d been close, so close…
…When he felt Jean’s hand settle over his and pull it away. Then he was backing away, looking into Jean’s eyes, which were not childish and innocent anymore but adult, aroused, and regretful.
“No, Roy,” Jean whispered. “Please… no. Not yet.”
They both knew, that when it happened between them—not if, not anymore, but when—this simple, easy game would be shattered beyond repair. Even if they tried to reprise it, it would never be the same.
“No,” Roy agreed, “no, not yet.” He walked out for a moment to clear his head, and when he came back Jean had the duck in his mouth, and smiled up at him around it. After Roy returned the smile, he toweled Jean off, redressed him, tucked him into his bed with the puppy plush for company, and kissed him chastely on the forehead, leaving him with the usual childish endearments; Goodnight, Jean. Your Roy loves you so much. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning. And he went alone to his bed.
9/26
Some people have been expressing interest in seeing the larger images, so I'll go ahead and post them at the end of the stories from now on. I'm making a big collage with them, so I was going to wait, but I decided to go ahead. Anyway, see you guys tomorrow for letter J. :)
Author/Artist:
raja815Character/Fandom: Jean Havoc/Roy Mustang. Fullmetal Alchemist.
Rating: R
Word Count: 1052
Warnings: Sexuality. Paraphilic infantilism (adult baby fetishism.)
Disclaimer: Fullmetal Alchemist is © Hiromu Arakawa. I will make no capitol benefit from this.
for “Infantilism"Everything began on a particularly late night at Headquarters, with Roy and Havoc working alone to catch up on some backlog. Roy stumbled back into the office with yet another stack of reports at half past two in the morning to find Havoc asleep on the small sofa, clutching his uniform jacket to his chest like a blanket, one thumb securely corked into his mouth.
At first Roy was amused, then baffled. What was a grown man doing sucking his thumb like an infant? A commended military rifleman, no less! Roy had been all set to be disdainful, even cruel about it, but all of a sudden, he’d felt sort of… well, curious. He needed a closer look.
He crept over and sat down, examining Havoc’s face as he did so. It was more peaceful than he’d ever seen it, all the stress and hints of loneliness he usually carried wiped away. He looked perfectly innocent. Roy had never seen an expression like that on anyone outside of earliest childhood, asleep or not. It made Roy feel strange. Protective, somehow. So he’d pulled Havoc’s head into his lap, stroked the blond fringe until it was smooth, and began to sway slowly back and forth. Any qualms or questions at his own behavior seemed insignificant compared to that peaceful bliss on the lieutenant’s face.
Jean awoke almost at once and panicked, pulling his thumb away and scrambling to get up, but Roy held him. He said nothing. And neither did Havoc. He only looked deeply into his Colonel’s eyes for a long moment, and slowly slid his thumb back into his mouth. Roy kissed his forehead and resumed his rocking. After awhile, Havoc closed his eyes and Roy began to hum.
It went from there. They never spoke of the incident, but all at once Jean began showing up to Roy’s house on Friday evenings after they both left work, and staying until midday on Saturday, when Roy usually went into headquarters again.
Roy had heard from his surrogate “aunties” at Madame Christmas’s establishment about men who enjoyed things like this—being powdered and diapered, mock-nursed, silenced with pacifiers while their escorts sucked them off. What he and Jean did wasn’t like that. Not in the least.
For starters, it wasn’t sexual. Well… not completely. Not at first. At the heart of it Roy supposed it was sexual in some fundamental way, but there wasn’t anything that passed for sex between them. Instead it fulfilled them, both men who had never known their fathers, in ways they could barely make sense of.
It wasn’t elaborate, either. Jean would arrive, smoke a few final cigarettes to hold him through the night, and Roy would undress him to his underwear. He’d put Jean into soft, pastel blue pajamas. They were men’s pajamas, not modeled after any baby sleepwear, but there was something childish about them all the same. From the moment he was in them, Jean didn’t speak. His face retained the expression of childlike innocence that had so captivated Roy, and whatever he needed was communicated through whimpers, laughs, and infantile gestures. Roy would feed him soft foods like soup or applesauce with a spoon, cuddle with him on the sofa, tickle him until tears of laughter ran down his cheeks, stroke his hair and hold him until he fell asleep. Jean would suck his thumb, kiss Roy’s cheek with innocent affection, play with the coasters on the coffee table, and listen with rapt attention when Roy read him simple stories or hummed lullabies.
Of course, though, it couldn’t stay so simple. Roy felt the gradual change in their dynamic when they weren’t playing their soothing little domestic game, and during work he found himself noticing how sexy Jean looked in his uniform. When he wasn’t there being little boy innocent, Roy thought of kissing him, not like a father but like a lover, deep and rough and long. Thought of undressing him and really seeing him. Though of bringing him to his own wide double bed, instead of the smaller guest bed he’d fitted with soft blankets and a stuffed puppy plush, and pressing their bodies together.
One Friday evening, Roy gave Jean a bath, carefully undressing him, laying his soft blue pajamas aside, filing the tub with soap suds and floating a rubber duck (it had come attached to a box of cigars Hughes had sent in celebration of Elysia’s birth) in the water. Jean sat in his bath, splashing the bubbles, smiling as the duck bobbed back and forth. Roy, kneeling on the tiled floor, was washing him with a soft cloth, when he’d reached under the bubbles and felt Jean was erect.
Roy moaned softly, his own penis swelling, and he’d leaned over the tub, finding Jean’s lips and kissing him like he’d fantasized about kissing him, not a parent’s kiss to a beloved child but a kiss from one amorous man to another, and seized his hard-on under the suds and began pumping. He felt Jean’s tongue with his, and he’d been close, so close…
…When he felt Jean’s hand settle over his and pull it away. Then he was backing away, looking into Jean’s eyes, which were not childish and innocent anymore but adult, aroused, and regretful.
“No, Roy,” Jean whispered. “Please… no. Not yet.”
They both knew, that when it happened between them—not if, not anymore, but when—this simple, easy game would be shattered beyond repair. Even if they tried to reprise it, it would never be the same.
“No,” Roy agreed, “no, not yet.” He walked out for a moment to clear his head, and when he came back Jean had the duck in his mouth, and smiled up at him around it. After Roy returned the smile, he toweled Jean off, redressed him, tucked him into his bed with the puppy plush for company, and kissed him chastely on the forehead, leaving him with the usual childish endearments; Goodnight, Jean. Your Roy loves you so much. Sleep well. I’ll see you in the morning. And he went alone to his bed.
9/26
Some people have been expressing interest in seeing the larger images, so I'll go ahead and post them at the end of the stories from now on. I'm making a big collage with them, so I was going to wait, but I decided to go ahead. Anyway, see you guys tomorrow for letter J. :)
